


Oddity (on hiatus due to personal reasons)

by orphan_account



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Aliens, Angst, Drama, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Rating Change, Romance, Time Travel, crisscolfer, mentions of depression, space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wanted for a crime he actually didn’t commit (this time) infamous space pirate, Chris Colfer, and his cyborg companion Brian, are being chased by corrupt bounty hunters through space. While trying to escape, Chris makes a quick decision to pass through a pulsing wormhole and go back in time to years before. When passing through the vortex, their spacecraft gets somehow sucked into Earth’s gravitational pull, causing the ship to crash land onto present day earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oddity (on hiatus due to personal reasons)

_**Milky Way - June 17th, 2266; 1:38 AM(PDT)** _

Tiny specks of light and dust make their way from in front of the barreling mass of titanium and glass, attempting to avoid their untimely demise. Infamous space pirate, Chris Colfer, at the helm of a stolen spacecraft, makes his getaway from planet Earth with his longtime companion and friend, Brian.

“Which way, Brian?” Chris asks the cyborg, growing impatient with every passing second. “Dammit, Brian! Which way?!”

Unlocking his chair and rolling with it across the cramped cockpit floor to the flickering blue map that’s stationed on the right above the inner panel. Brian looks it over with brewing stress — following the intertwining lines with his rough paw until he sees an answer. “Left. Take a left!” Looking down at the sensor located on the side control panel, his voice laced with worry, “they’re getting closer, Colfer!”

Rolling his eyes as he takes a sharp turn, shifting the craft into a growing speed, making the loose cargo whack around in the back. “Gee, thanks, like I didn’t know that.”

The call screen cracks to life from the front of the vessel, breaking the thick air and making both fugitives jump. A fuzzy image of a man and some sort of lizard being begins to appear on the screen. The human of the two, a red headed bear of man, locks eyes onto the outlaw. Widening his greasy smile to show all his yellowish teeth, Damon addresses his targets. “Why are you running? We just wanted to talk, baby.”

Ignoring the man’s words, Chris makes another swift curve, trying his best to avoid the space debris that’s scattered before him. In a frantic strive to escape his assailants, the wanted man puts more pressure on the throttle — thrusting the craft forward with built up momentum, causing rocks to bounce off the sides with fury and pain.

Turning to his fellow hunter, the man on the screen lets out a deep rumbling laugh, “look at this twit. He thinks he can out run Mr. M.” Turning back to stare down Chris, “he’s either an idiot or has a death wish…” mimicking Chris’s twists and turns, “…kinda hope it’s the latter.”

“Fuck off, Damon.” The outlaw growls, yelling back to Brian, “I need an exit here!”

“Sir the-”

“GODDAMMIT, BRIAN! GIVE ME AN EXIT! ”

Making a quick stuttering glance at the engine levels, Brian looks back at the map. Seeing an opening that could maybe just work,“past the field!” Worry clouding his mind after picking such a route — knowing full well that where they are heading could mean no return.

Squinting to see, Chris locks his eyes on the swirling mist of royal purples and shimmering grays that rest in the distance. “Got it!”

Damon making his presence known again, taunting the outlaw, “don’t be a little bitch, Christopher. Give up, you have nowhere to go.”

Side glancing the screen with a smirk, Chris warns his co pilot of the action he is about to take, “smoke ‘em if you got ‘em!” Signaling the bionic feline to bare down to the floor, strapping himself in tight to the ship’s console — preparing himself for the oncoming forces as Chris overrides the gears and races straight towards what could end up being their final boom.

Suddenly realizing what the outlaw plans to do, Damon barks back to his fellow bounty hunter with rage. “Move this fucking craft!”

Blowing a kiss at the screen, “see ya, boys!” Up to full speed now, Chris takes a deep breath and crashes through the wormhole. The vibrant swirls of lights and color consume the craft and blast them from present existence — edging them back to times before.

Pulling back on the emergency brake, stopping just before the vortex, Damon and his partner barely miss being sucked in right behind Chris and Brian. “Fuck!” Damon yells, thoroughly pissed that he just let his bounty get away. Unable to follow due to regulations, Damon orders Mark, his partner, to make the dreaded call.

 

_**Earth - June 17th, 2016; 3:10 PM(PDT)** _

Welcoming the warmth of the afternoon sun, the birds chirp away with their sweet melodic symphony while resting high atop their perches that hover beside a frame of brick and imitation stone. The yawing sun shining through an unwashed window, cascading a faded blanket of light upon a rumbled up bed, is where we find a boxer brief clad Darren and his adopted son, Boba.

Rolling over to his side, Darren opens one of his warm hazel eyes and looks over at the snoring french bulldog, who is currently spread out on the burgundy comforter like he’s the queen of frickin England. “Boba…” Darren whispers, getting no response in return. Gently pulling the top sheet off of himself and wiggling closer to the lazy pooch, he tries again only louder, “Bobanator…” Still getting no response whatsoever, the man rolls his eyes with fondness as he leans up on his forearm to get a better look at his hairy child. Cracking a smile at the way Boba is passed out with little to no care in the world, Darren takes his free hand and shakes the dog, singing out the one thing he knows for a fact will wake the animal from his coma like slumber. “ _I got you McNuggets…_ ”

With a jolt and a shake of his rear, Boba wakes in search for his precious nuggies. Discovering that he has been made a fool, the dog stomps over to his owner and looks the man dead in the eyes with a drooping expression of utter betrayal. His damp snout blowing out little pouts of annoyance against Darren’s face.

Laughing at Boba’s affronted look, Darren teases the dog with a small poke to it’s chest. “Oh don’t even, mister. Don’t think for one minute that I forgot about the horrendous fart you let out at PetSmart yesterday.”

  
Burrowing his head into his tiny legs, embarrassment echoing off the action, the chubby frenchie tries his best to sink into the bed and away from the shame of his notorious gastrointestinal issues.

Grabbing up his brindle pup and rolling onto his back, Darren hugs Boba to his chest and continues to tease. “Damn right you feel shame,” lifting his head a bit to kiss the dog’s, “it was gross, man!” Maneuvering Boba so they can see eye to eye, “and everyone thought it was me!”

Letting out a wide yawn and a stretch of his back, getting used to his father’s antics by now, Boba leans his head forward to lick Darren across the face.

“Noooo!” Darren spits out with a surprised squeak, releasing the dog in favor of wiping the slobber off his face. “Ugh, your breath smells worse than that fart did.”

Jumping off his owner, Boba sits patiently beside the bed waiting for Darren to stand up and salvage the rest of their day.

Glancing over at his nightstand, checking the time on the alarm clock — not really caring about how late they managed to sleep in — Darren figures he might as well get up and join the living.

Sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he reaches over to the nightstand and opens the top drawer to grab his green pill case. Closing the drawer back and picking up the half empty water bottle that sits beside the alarm clock, Darren turns his body and looks down at his dog. “Shower first?”

Barking with agreement, Boba heads over to the low wooden laundry basket and grabs the freshly washed raggedy towel that hangs off the side. Dragging the cloth beside him, dangling from the tight hold of his jaw, Boba makes his way to their bathroom down the hall.

  
Twisting the cap off of his water bottle, Darren goes to pop open his pill case and dump the tiny tablets from the compartment labeled _WED_ onto his palm. Looking down at the small collection of shapes and sizes, sighing with a twinge of sadness, he tilts his head back and raises the pills to his mouth. Cringing at the bitter taste of the medication, Darren swallows them down with a swig of the lukewarm liquid from his day old water bottle. Closing the lid on his pill case and putting it back into this nightstand, Darren stands up and stretches out his body with a twist of his hips and a reach of his arms — openly sniffing his underarms with a crinkle of his nose. “Shower it is then.”

**7 mins later**

Inside the two person shower Darren begins to freestyle, soaping up his hair with the coconut shampoo — all while Boba bounces along to his owners obscure medley. “ _Gotta wash my balls and my dog, balls then the dog…._ ” distracted by Boba’s fresh dance moves, Darren shakes his hips along with the dog. “Get it, Boba! Shake your moneymaker!”

Jumping up onto this hind legs, his front paws now resting on the back of Darren’s left leg, the small dog howls with joy.

Turning around so the spray of warm water can rinse the shampoo from the back of his thick curly locks, Darren snorts at the nonsense that is him and his dog. Snagging the washcloth out of his shower caddy that hangs on the showers inner wall, Darren coats the white square with shower gel and continues on with his little ditty as they finish up the shower. “But first let’s take it back and clean that sweaty crack…”

**18 mins later**

Crouched down on the bathroom floor, in nothing but the ragged hot pink towel, Darren attempts to dry Boba off with the blow dryer. “No, my left, not your left.”

Turning to let Darren dry his other side, Boba lets out a roar of a fart during the process.

Pulling the blow dryer back and staring with brewing judgment at the four-legged animal standing before him, Darren asks a question that he already knows the answer to. “Did you just…”

Answering Darren’s question with a single move, Boba releases another whisper of gas —stinking up the bathroom with it’s pungence of evil.

“Alright, that’s it, ” Darren proclaims as he turns off the blow dyer and stands, “we’re done here.” Unplugging the dryer and wrapping the cord around its handle, placing it back in its holder, the gagging half naked man reaches for the air freshener and opens the bathroom door. Spraying the air with the floral scent of hibiscus as he attempts to usher the dog out of the room,“be free stinky one. Go eat your food while I get ready.”

Giddy at the notion of food, Boba rushes off to his portioned controlled bowls. His father long gone forgotten — replaced by the scrumptious journey that is his chicken chow.

Shaking his head at the tubby mutt, Darren walks back into the bathroom in an attempt to tame his wild hair.

**20 mins later**

Fresh, dried, styled, all fed, and almost ready to go — Darren does one more sweep of his apartment before heading over to the shop, then his dinner date at Patty’s.

Walking passed his answer machine, he notices the blinking red light alerting him of three missed calls. Pressing the play button, Darren grabs the vest, leash, and collar off their respective hooks and walks over to the couch to put them on the dog.

Coming to life with a quick click, the answer machine starts to rattle off the missed messages. “ _First missed call. Yesterday, at 11:23, AM.. ‘Hello Mr. Criss, this is Tasha calling from Doctor Hart’s office in regards to you missing your last two sessions. If you would, please give us a call back at your earliest convenience. Thanks, and have a wonderful day.’_ ”

Snapping the red vest around Boba’s torso, Darren looks at the dog with a thoughtful expression. “Remind me later that I need to do that.”

Looking back at his owner with ‘ _Bitch, I am a dog_ ’ written all over his face, Boba turns to the side so Darren can put his collar on him next.

The answer machine rolls over to the next missed message. “ _Second missed call. Yesterday, at 5:53 pm. Darren! Buddy, pal, my main man, it’s Rick! Remember me?! Your goddamn agent?!? Yeah, where the fuck have you been?!?!_ ”

Rolling his eyes on an endless loop, Darren starts to slowly pet Boba with smooth strokes while he counts backwards from 15, attempting to center and calm himself.

“ _I have had three studios call me and demand to know why you were a no show! Three goddamn studios! Do you know how bad that makes me look?!_ ”

Scratching Boba’s ears, allowing the dog to lick and caress his other hand, Darren studders. “Seven…”

“ _When you finally fix whatever the fuck is wrong with you, give me a call. You have my office number._ ”

Looking down at his pup, stress drenching his voice from hearing the message, Darren attempts to reassure his dog. “I’m ok, boy. Everything’s ok. I’ll be ok.”

Surveying his master’s face, checking for any indication of an need to jump on issue, Boba accepts the reply with a lick to Darren’s right hand.

“ _Third missed call. Today, at 3:08, AM.’ Honey? It’s mom._ ”

Lifting his head and looking over at the machine with a mixture of pain and shock, Darren stills to listen to rest of the message.

“ _It’s been two months since we last heard from you. Are you alive? Have you been eating?_ ”

“When has she ever known me to miss a meal…” he asks himself while going back to finish locking the leash to Boba’s collar.

“ _Your father is sorry, Darren. We all are._ ”

Stilling again for a beat, “wasn’t expecting that one…”

“ _Just, please give us a call sometime soon… Ok? I moved the investments to the side account like you had requested and spoke with the post office again to remind them to forward all your mail to the new address. Please take care of yourself, Darren. Love you, baby. Hope to hear from you soon._ ”

Standing up and directing the dog towards the door, Darren grabs his ball cap off the end table and places it atop his mop of chocolate curls. Looking down at Boba with a dim pain in his eyes, Darren rubs his face in an attempt to fight off the incoming tears. “If he’s so sorry, then why wasn’t he the one to call?” Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Darren opens the door of the wood paneled apartment and walks out, closing the warped metal behind them both with a tempered slam.

 _“End of new messages. Beeeep_ ”

 

_**Earth - June 18th, 2266; 2:00 AM (PDT)** _

Tucked away behind a fortress of marble stone walls and luscious rows of evergreen — sits the ranch style home of the ruthless, Mr. M.

“Sir?” Martha, the head of the house staff — a purple skinned older being — shyly walks into the oversized dining room with her head down and translucent tail wrapped around one of her short legs, alerts her boss of an incoming call. “There’s a call for you, sir. It’s in regards to the _pest_ situation.”

Currently in a private late night meeting with two easily bribed employees from one of his competitor’s companies, Mr. M excuses himself from the table and tells Martha that he will take the call in the Study.

Making his way down the hall, passing six rooms on his left, Mr. M moves with poise and a strut of pure arrogance. Embedding a feeling of judgment and unworthiness with every piercing glance from his narrowed gray eyes. Slender in build, medium in frame — Mr. M is known for his short fuse and his habit of getting what he wants by any means necessary. Giving off the impression that he is not someone to fuck with.

Reaching the double door entryway to his personal study, Mr. M swiftly closes the door behind himself and strolls over to the antique oak desk that sits farther back in the warm lit room. Turning the dial that stands mounted to his desk, Mr. M waits as the screen across from him comes to life. Nodding at the image of his servant’s appearing face, he relieves her of the task. “I’ll take it from here, Martha.”

“Yes, Sir.” Her jittery voice replies back, disappearing from the screen like a flash, allowing the incoming call to connect.

With both hands firmly planted on the desk before him, Mr. M. snarls across the room at the bounty hunter on the screen. “You better have good news for me.”

Pausing before quickly letting out the purpose of the call, Mark, a reptile like creature from the planet Mars, flinches with a hiss. “We lost him.”

Turning away from the screen and towards the crystal encrusted french doors that overlook his pristine gardens of roses and tulips, the corporate kingpin flexes his fingers and balls them into a fist. “What do you mean by _lost him_?” He calmly asks with a hint of strain.

“You see, we were right on him. Toe to toe the entire chase, but at the last-minute he gave us the slip….” Mark rambles out with a hint of uneasiness.

Pushing his partner out of the way, Damon tries to add his two cents, “he took a wormhole-”

Turning back to his desk, Mr. M ruffles through the stack of papers and folders layering over it, until he finds what he is looking for. A small black rectangular device with a stark white screen, housing an array of intricate blinking colorful lights. Looking back up at the redhead, “the one towards Deimos?”

Chuckling with surprise at the guess, Damon relaxes his body and confirms Mr. M’s direction. “Yeah! How’d you know?”

Lowering his head back down to the device, leaving no room to negotiate in his voice, “I suggest you two meet me back at Volpe Corp,” side eyeing the watch on his wrist “today at seven am. No excuses.” Hanging up the call before the other man could respond to the request, Mr. M looks over at the golden scales that rest on the side of his desk. Picking them up, he weighs them in the palm of his hand —checking the give and size of the expensive piece. Swiftly turning around, he proceeds to launch them towards the crystal doors, causing the doors to shatter into thousands of tiny sharp pieces.

Rolling his shoulders back and forth while dusting his hands off by sliding them against each other like raw sandpaper, Mr. M goes back over to the desk and picks up the blinking device. Ignoring the flurry of house workers who have come to see what all the commotion was about, he moves over to stand in front of the golden backed mirror that rests on the wall right of the Study’s entryway.

Adjusting his hat and black collar, “I want this mess cleaned up and that door replaced by tomorrow afternoon,” stating with a lick of his teeth — still assessing himself in the mirror, “are we clear?”

The group of seven all nod their heads in affirmative.

Looking down at the blinking tracker that rest firmly in his tight fist, the unique device that he uses to monitor most, if not all, of his valuable possessions — Mr. M grins with a curled smirk. “You can run, Mr. Colfer, but you can not hide.”

 

**_Exact coordinates unknown - X,X,XXXX; 0:00_ **

Spinning faster than a raging whirlpool, the two person carrier plunges deeper into the never-ending labyrinth of time and thought. The brutal speed of the rocking winds within the spiraling tunnel, wreak havoc on the craft’s external system and the occupants who reside within. Calling over the harsh screams of screeching metal on metal, Chris attempts to reach out to his faithful companion.

“BRIAN,” struggling to see clearly through the blurs of flashing rays of white and violet, “BRIAN ARE YOU OK?!”

Still strapped to the unyielding console, eyes firmly shut tight with his short limbs flopping around like a leaf in a tornado, Brian hollers back with a strong disdain for their current situation. “I THINK I’M GOING TO HURL!”

Using every ounce of strength and perseverance that he has in his body, Chris tries to pull himself up and push against the bruising force. Angling his body towards the back of the cockpit, in an effort to make his way to Brian. “I’M COMING TO YOU!”

Opening his eyes and quickly closing them right back shut when he feels vile creeping up his throat, the distressed cat yells back in question. “WHAT?”

Taking a shaky step, still fighting to push himself forward, Chris repeats himself with a rasp. “I’M COMING TO YOU!”

“YOU POO’D? DUDE, ME TOO!”

“WHAT? NO!”

“HUH?”

Over half way across now, Chris struggles to make the last few steps. The strain on his body doing him in quickly, the force from the tunnels velocity pressing on his muscles and tendons with building pressure. “I SAID THAT I-”

Shooting out of the vortex like a bullet being released from a gun, the spacecraft jerks with a final tug — forcing Chris to fly sideways into a metal wall plate. “SHIT” he screams into the cabin, sliding down the wall as the craft slows to abrupt halt. “Ouch.”

With the ship finally stable and still, laying on the hard cold floor with his arm bent behind his back, Chris starts to laugh — his laugh growing in strength.

Breathing heavily, finally opening his eyes and staring at his hysterical friend, Brian follows suit —their joint cackles echoing throughout the small craft.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Chris rolls on his back and addresses the ship’s internal computer, “Ship! Location and date?”

“Milky Way - June 18th, 2016”

Sitting up and rubbing his bruised back, Chris mutters to himself. “At least we know that still somewhat works.”

Looking over at his friend, Brian relaxes his aching muscles and starts to tease. “Next time, steal a ship with, I don’t know, more stability?”

“How about next time you go fu-”

Before he can finish his retort, the front of the craft dips with a whine. Pulling itself downward with a fierce jerk.

“What the fuck?” Chris questions as he stands himself up right. Somewhat limping over to the helm, his eyes widening with realization. “Brian! Get your pint-sized faux fur ass over here and help me!” Trying with all his strength to pull back on the gear, Chris attempts to dislodge their vessel from Earth’s gravitational pull.

Frantically unlocking himself from his binds, Brian the cat climbs his chair and rolls to place, pushing the fuel release line all the way down. “We’re not going to make it!” He yells with frustration, rolling to the other side in order to have a look at the engine gauges, “we’re down to one engine and it’s not going to hold for very much longer!”

The craft sinking faster and faster, making the effort to go against the pull even harder, the outlaw realizes this is a battle he just can not win. “Fuck it" he yells as he locks himself to his seat, “prepare for impact!” Pulling back on the levers that steer the craft, Chris cracks his neck left and right, looking over at his copilot with determination in his blue eyes. “Looks like we’re going to have to fight this son of a bitch all the way down.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP that I have been toying around with for a little bit. I have most of it planned out, and few of the chapters already written. So If you would, please leave me some feedback! Let me know if I should continue this story or not. Any and all feedback is welcome and greatly appreciated :) (Just, don’t be an asshole. Thanks.)


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